


Beg Me

by Corker



Series: Love Me [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/F, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Predicament Bondage, Spanking, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corker/pseuds/Corker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela follows through on Aveline's request to "break me" - with a strong dominant hand and more pleasure than the guard captain can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beg Me

Her arms began to tremble.

They’d ended up at the Blooming Rose, naturally, in the middle of the day when certain degenerate senechals were unlikely to show their saturnine faces. Isabela’d had her undress down to nothing, then put on a black leather collar, studded with steel rivets. “Picked it up at Lirene’s,” Isabela had smirked. “Guess some other Ferelden bitch doesn’t need it any more.” 

A mabari collar, then. High-quality. A little time and attention and it could be made gleaming, supple, and... and less dog-scented. (A little time? Was she already considering doing this again?)

The collar was their agreement. Nothing that happened while Aveline was wearing it would be mentioned outside of this room. No teasing her about it in front of Hawke. No friend-fiction shared with Varric. Just the usual, Lady Man-Hands versus the Slattern. And Aveline would be the one to put it on, as a token of permission. She could pretend otherwise once it was on, but it was Isabela’s reassurance that she consented.

So that’s how she ended up with her ankles lashed to a wooden pole, spreading her legs wide, while trying to hold up a pair of weights. Those were tied to ropes, too, run through racheted pulleys on either side of the room (who thought of these things?), and Isabela had latticed the free ends down her forearms. She’d begun with her elbows in and folded up, supporting the weights easily. If she gave up any rope, the rachets would keep her from pulling it back.

And then Isabela began a leisurely inspection. Eyes, fingers, hands, tongue and teeth, questing and testing, soft and sharp by turns. Hobbled, she couldn’t step away; pushing or slapping hands away might cause her to lose rope. She closed her eyes against the sight of what was happening - a poor shield against the vulnerability she felt, displayed and assessed like this (even the whores downstairs were dressed), but the only one she had.

Isabela gloated - “Eager slut,” “Liked that, did you?”, “There’s a good whore” - when Aveline twitched or grunted or gasped at the pirate’s touches. A time or two, a hard pinch in a soft place drew an actual yelp, and the pirate simply pressed a gentler kiss to the spot and moved on. And the weights just seemed to grow heavier. How long was Isabela going to be at this? Until her muscles fatigued and the weights drew her arms up and out, straining her shoulders as she was splayed totally open?

Yes, that sounded about right.

She lost inches of rope when, after having given her breast a few slaps, Isabela bent to run her tongue over the nipple. An unexpected sharp sting across her buttocks left her gasping and lost her a bit more. (Why was _that_ pain less objectionable than a bruising pinch to her inner thigh?) She felt Isabela press up against her back, a hand slipping around her waist, the lower down her stomach, and then -

\- _pleasure_ , a sensation so strong and urgent and sudden that she cried out, back arching even as both weights ran for the floor. Rope hissed, and she made a choking sound when her arms jolted in their sockets, but Maker’s breath, _who cared?_

Isabela chuckled, a little below her ear. “I noticed Merrill’s magical tentacle friend ignored this little spot. Poor thing, you never found it on your own?”

 _”Ah!”_ Aveline shuddered in response, entirely focused on the electric waves pulsing out from under Isabela’s touch. 

“Strung up like a side of meat and you’re dripping wet,” Isabela went on, teasing with small, light circles of whatever magical ‘spot’ she’d found. The collar at her throat tightened, and Aveline let her head fall back to ease the pressure; Isabela’s other hand soon played lightly along her extended throat, one of the buttons she’d uncovered earlier. “Would it get you hotter to have someone watching, to see you so open and exposed?”

(There was something there, something about openness and intimacy and what she wanted, but it boiled away under Isabela’s touch.)

The hand caressing her throat tangled in her hair and pulled. “Answer that.”

“No,” she lied, tongue licking dry lips. (Was it a lie?)

“You wanted _me_ to watch, at Hawke’s,” Isabela pointed out. “Also, your manners are atrocious. It’s yes or no, _ser_.”

“Ser, no, ser,” Aveline said automatically.

Isabela dropped both her hands, and Aveline ground her teeth to avoid whining needily. “That was much too easy,” the pirate mused. “Soldier and a guard, aren’t you?”

“Ser, yes, ser.”

“Oh, that’s no fun. Hm... I don’t like ‘mistress,’ makes me sound like an Orlesian’s piece on the side. ‘Lady’ reminds me of ladylike, which I’m not.” Arms reaching from behind again, fingers dancing lightly over her breasts. “I said something about the pirate queen and her prisoner last time, didn’t I? Let’s go with that. ‘My queen.’”

Aveline managed a scoff. “Are you serious?” 

Isabela pulled her back by her hair again; because she was taller, Aveline realized. “I guess you’re going to find out.” The hand that yet lingered, rubbing her nipple slid back down to that miracle spot; Aveline’s hips bucked involuntarily. “I’ll make it simple to start. If you like that, say, ‘Please, more, my queen.’”

Tight. Everything was tight. Her arms were tight, pulled up and out by the weights; her back, neck and scalp were tight, pulled backwards by Isabela; something in her belly was tight and winding ever-tighter, as if she could climax just from this. Maker, she wanted more, and if all she had to say was -

\- Her throat was suddenly tight. Four words, just four sounds, they didn’t have to mean anything (but of course they did mean something, they meant _so much_ ) but nonetheless they were stuck behind that tightness. She swallowed, took a breath, swallowed again but -

Isabela stepped away from her abruptly, and this time she _did_ whine, just a small noise, but the pirate heard it. “Bitch, you’re not _actually_ a dog,” Isabela laughed. Her voice was farther away, so Aveline opened her eyes to see what she was doing. Detaching the weight hooked to her left arm, looked like. One arm, then the other, dropped rubbery to her sides. Isabela, trimming both leading ends of the ropes to more reasonable lengths, swayed back to the center of the room, took hold of Aveline’s chin and tipped it down so that their eyes met. “Get on the bed, and I’ll tell you what we’re doing today.”

Fantasy and reality grated against one another for a moment - (not _get on_ the bed, be _pulled to, shoved on_ the bed) - but perhaps the Pirate Queen had Hawke locked up somewhere, and Aveline had best do as she said. She began an awkward shuffle forward, ankles still spread and tied to wooden pole - and something hit her buttocks sharply. “Step lively!” Isabela crowed, smacking her enthusiastically with... something flat and hard, she couldn’t see.

Shuffle, smack-smack, shuffle. Sting turned quickly to burn. “You could crawl for it,” Isabela taunted her. “Probably faster that way.”

Smack-smack, shuffle. The bed was at the other end of the room, half a league away. Smack-smack-smack, blows landing on blows, turning from burn to pain. Shuffle, shuffle, _smack-smack_...

But the doughty prisoner made it all the way across the pirate cabin on her feet, flaming ass be damned, and threw herself forward onto it as ordered. Isabela was on her quickly... massaging? Rubbing and massaging her arms. Which were, granted, a little stiff from before, but she hadn’t expected this. After a few moments, though, Isabela rolled her over - she grimaced as her bottom slid against the sheets, which seemed to be burlap at that moment - and secured both her arms to the head of the bed. “This,” the pirate said, “is what we’re going to do.”

She sat back onto her heels, straddling Aveline’s hips and looking down at her with sleepy intensity. “I can see that I’d be wasting my time with the whips and the wax and the clamps. Well,” she rolled her shoulders, “not _wasting_ , if it was fun, but that’s not going to work to break _you_.” She reached down to touch a puckered round scar at Aveline’s shoulder, slid down to matching V-shaped bite marks on her forearm (dragonling, wasn’t it?), back to an old blade-wound at her side. “You can take pain.” Aveline felt... oddly warmed by the acknowledgement. “So I’ll just have to do something _different_ to break you down so that you beg like the slut you are.” Aveline swallowed, and Isabela arched an eyebrow. “Oh come on. Not even a ‘Do your worst, fiend?’” She sighed. “Stoic silence it is, then.” Then she smiled wickedly. “Let’s see how long _that_ lasts.”

Isabela liked to be on top. Being on top meant you got what you wanted. Sometimes, that was to ride a hard cock at _just_ the right angle to get herself off. Or maybe it was her cunt in someone’s face until she was exhausted and satisfied. Nothing wrong with those.

But there was a different sort of pleasure in power, in making your partner squirm and dance with lust under your knowing hands, clever mouth, and absolutely filthy mind. And when the partner was someone so powerful in her own right, it just made it so much sweeter.

Wesley had evidently been the sort of man who was good for just the one thing. (She didn’t dare mention that - some things, even Isabela could tell were just off-limits and mood-killers besides.) In between half-stifled groans and whines, Aveline occasionally raised her head to weakly ask, “ _What_ are you - _oh!_ ” when Isabela switched her techniques up. She was getting pretty hot herself, watching Madame Guard Captain quickly come undone with just a little finger action.

Not knowing Aveline’s body all that well, she opted to play it safe, making her touches slower and lighter whenever the redhead started holding her breath entirely. At the inevitable frustrated gasp of air, she’d pick up the pace again. Maybe slip a few fingers inside. _Tap, tap, slide._ Aveline crunched her face up, almost as if in pain, and the shaking of her bound arms slammed the headboard into the wall repeatedly. 

At length, her green eyes flew open. “It’s not working,” she complained, an edge in her voice. “I’ve never... you know, without something inside...”

“Sweet thing,” Isabela murmured, brushing one damp strand of red hair out of Aveline’s face. “You haven’t come yet because I haven’t _let_ you.”

 _”What?!”_ The headboard thumped with indignation.

“‘Please, more, my queen.’ You still have to say it. What, you thought I forgot?” Aveline stared with delicious, helpless outrage. It was just too much - Isabela shifted, repositioning herself so that she straddled one pale, muscular thigh and ground down on it. “I can do this all afternoon,” she purred. “Bring you right up to the edge and then back down, over and over and _over_.” She lay forward, licking salt-leather sweat from Aveline’s collarbone and then the line of her jaw. “How many times,” she asked, low in a freckled ear, “before you’re crying from needing it? And how many more times before you ask, then beg for it?” She chuckled. “And then how many more before I actually give it to you?” She sat up slowly, fingers spread to trace ten separate lines down that hard/soft torso, undulating her sex against Aveline’s leg. “You might want to just start now.”

“Isabela...” Aveline swallowed, looked away. “Don’t. I can’t.”

That wasn’t their signal, so it was ahead full sail. “I think you’ll find that you can,” Isabela smiled down, one hand finding its way back between Aveline’s legs. “You just need the proper motivation.”

It took longer than Isabela had expected. She’d even needed to break into her bag of oral tricks, which she’d been intending to save for the big finish. But the sun was getting lower and lower in the sky outside, and Aveline remained stubbornly mute, so it was time for the dirty tricks.

It worked. No more than three teasing rises toward climax, and she heard the first broken _”Please”_ above her. She lifted her head to look up the long expanse of belly, past the two heaving small but firm breasts, but only saw chin; raising herself on her elbows, she saw eyes shut tight with dampness in the corners. 

“Please what?” she crooned, fingers dancing to send sparks shuddering through the other woman.

Aveline slowly shook her head from side to side. _”Please...”_

Isabela stilled her hand and mouthed a pink nipple instead, eliciting a choked sob. “You’re so very close,” she whispered encouragingly. “Just four little words, go on.”

Nothing.

Twice more between Aveline’s legs, fingering herself because it was coming, coming _soon_ and she wanted to come to the sound of it. “P-please... please, muh...”

Isabela hummed curiously.

Aveline took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then gasped out, “Please, more! Please, queen, my queen, please!”

And Isabela _stopped_.

Aveline’s watery eyes flew open. “I said it. I said it!”

Isabela sat up, smirking, leaving one hand to idly play with Aveline while she employed the other on herself. “It’s not a _command_ , sweet thing. You’re begging.”

“No!” The syllable sounded pained, broken. “You said... you said I just had to say...”

“You did. Now say it again, and _mean it_.”

Aveline tilted her head back to yell at the ceiling, but finished with a sob of frustration. “Please, _please_! Isabela - queen - my queen,” she struggled to hit the right formula, and the pirate thought she could definitely live with the sound of ‘Isabela, my queen’ - “I need more, just a little more, I’m going mad, please -”

“Are you my eager whore? Say yes.”

Aveline pulled desperately on her restraints, eyes shut tight again. “Yes, yes, anything, yes! I’m - I’m your eager whore, _please_ -”

And _that_ put Isabela right over the edge, bucking against her own hand with a low, throaty groan. _”Oh,_ ” she said, when she had words again, “the queen likes that.”

Aveline rattled the headboard as Isabela lowered herself back down to the bed. “Eager whore, eager whore, eager whore!” she shouted, evidently because the queen liked it and because she was half out of her head with lust.

Isabela went to work enthusiastically, tongue flicking over and around the other woman’s clit as her fingers pumped in and out, curving up _just so_ \- a steady pace, but not too fast, letting the stimulation build one last time, past where she heard Aveline’s breath catch, past where her back arched impossibly against the restraints, past the high-pitched, insistent whine until -

\- she _felt_ Aveline’s impossibly well-toned muscles contract around her fingers; for a long moment, the woman gave no other sign that she was coming. Then another high-pitched sound, more of a warbling cry, that quickly dissolved into a gusty sigh. Isabela slowed her ministrations but did not stop, and had the pleasure of hearing some nearly pitiful moans and whimpers as Aveline rode the monster orgasm to the ground.

Isabela sat up again, pressed a kiss to the limp warrior’s lips, and worked the restraints free. When she’d untied the last one, Aveline curled onto her side, face turned away.

Oh, no. Not an unexpected bout of feelings? Still, she had a responsibility to ask, “Are you all right?”

Aveline curled a little tighter in on herself. “I don’t know.”

“I still respect you in the morning. Evening. Whatever time it is,” Isabela said, reaching to undo the mabari collar. 

“I’m not sure _I_ do.”

“If it was a mistake, it was a mistake,” Isabela shrugged. 

“I thought I believed... _that_ was something that should be... intimate. Between two people in love.”

Isabela sighed, frowned, and patted a shoulder awkwardly. “Look. Obviously, I don’t believe that. But I do believe sex should make you feel good. If it doesn’t, don’t do it.”

Aveline uncurled a bit and glanced at her uncertainly. “It... it was good. I don’t want you to think -”

Isabela waved it off. “Sweet thing, I was _spectacular._ So were you. But if it’s going to give you morning-after hangovers, then...”

Aveline made a sound that was half-grunt, half-laugh. “I think I’m feeling guilty for not feeling guilty.”

“All right, you need to work that out on your own,” Isabela said with a shake of her head. “For the record?” She paused, uncharacteristically sincere. “It’s brave to question who you are like that. Most people won’t.”

“Thanks.”

They stayed like that in silence for a few moments before Aveline hauled herself up with a deep breath. “I suppose we lose the room pretty soon. I’d better get dressed.” She got up and crossed the room to where she’d left her clothes. “And thanks for... indulging me, I guess.”

Isabela smiled and stretched languidly. Even if they never did this again? _So worth it._ “Big girl, the pleasure was definitely all mine.”


End file.
